


Relax

by chimaeracabra



Category: Prisoners (2013)
Genre: Detective Loki - Freeform, F/M, Jake Gyllenhaal - Freeform, OFC - Freeform, Prisoners, Rough Sex, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-20 08:50:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2422628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chimaeracabra/pseuds/chimaeracabra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Loki's girlfriend serves as a distraction while he struggles to find two missing girls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I never liked Jake Gyllenhaal until I saw Prisoners. I don't know why, but his character is just...sexy. I'm kind of ashamed, to be perfectly honest. I barely edited this. I'm 'bout to go to sleep. I don't think it's going to stop here...

            His back stiffens with knots as she pushes her hands beneath the thin black fabric of his shirt, and he winces, pulling away slightly.

            "Baby—not so hard," he sighs, leaning to the side a moment, turning his head slightly. She croons, gently scanning down the lengths of his shoulder blades, encircling the ribs. The detective inhales through his teeth and sits straight up.

            "Franca," he breathes. She finally lifts up the back of his shirt to find a large blue bruise there. A small gasp escapes from between her tired, puffy lips.

            "Loki…what's this?" she asks, continuing to pull his shirt up further.

            "Nothing, it's okay. Go back to sleep," he says, pulling the shirt down and turning round to face her with a weak smile. She doesn't buy it.

            "I didn't mean to wake you up. I was just coming home to shower and change. Gotta head back to the station," he says, pushing his hand through her dark forest of hair.

            "I thought you weren't coming home until Friday," he says quietly before kissing her forehead. She can tell without staring long that Loki hasn't slept in days. As he attempts to stand, she makes her way into his lap. He sighs, with what sounds like slight irritation at first, before she feels his lips smile against her neck, and he exhales, cocooning her in those strong arms that she hasn't felt in a solid three weeks. She'd missed them dearly.

            "You need to stay here and sleep. Sleep with me," she says soothingly. Loki sighs again.

            "Where'd you get that bruise?" she asks. The detective kisses her neck, lingering, gradually sucking the flesh between his lips in a way that causes Franca to bite hers.

            "It's nothing," he promises, "Just tripped chasing this creep around. I wasn't even in uniform and he started running from me…" He tries not to dwell on this case that's been driving him crazy—not while he's holding her. Part of detective Loki believes that Franca would not have come home to him again. She could have stayed overseas, her body a faraway longing he would not have sensed again. She'd have met someone who had _time_ for her, made her feel like he could see her. Before she left, she hadn't said goodbye. Things were stale between them. But the longer her lithe hips sink against his torso, the more the fire begins to ignite inside him, her limbs in his hands like coals that had been put back in the flames.

            "I missed you," she whispers. She whispers this, admitting defeat, and Loki smiles. Last time the detective checked, they weren't talking. She was angry with him. But he _had_ to put as much time as he did into his job, or he wouldn't have been worth a damn, and she knew it. He laughs pleasantly.

            "Stop being an asshole. Get your shower and come to bed," she demands, leaning back to stare into his deflated eyes.

            "Jesus, Loki."

He looks away, frowning a moment.

            " _You_ _—need_ _—to_ _—sleep_. Don’t _even_ try to argue with me."

            "I gotta go," he says with an exaggerated frown. He kisses her lips, catching her off guard. Neither of them close their eyes in the moment.

            "I have to, Franca. I have to solve this case. There are children missing, and I have to find them." She sighs.

            "…I understand that, but you can go to bed at night—"

            "No. I can't. You know that I can't."

He doesn't look at the frustration on her face as he slides his way out from under the woman. This is what had brought them to the rocks before. He doesn't have _time_ to relax—especially not in the middle of a case. But really, it's that he _won't_ take time in the middle of a case. Franca recalls with a feeling of desertion the time where he didn't come home for four days straight. His ever elusive sweetness once again makes the woman angry, but angry in a way that she'd cry before she decided to scream at the detective again.

            "You should look in the mirror," she says calmly, sitting in her underwear and t-shirt atop the mauve quilt.

            "Why?" Loki asks without turning to face her. She exhales through her nose with false humor. And despite Franca's anger, she can't help but stare in longing at the beautiful back, bruise and all, that is suddenly exposed to her. The black long-sleeved shirt that had clung like armor to his trim frame dances with a heavy drop into the hamper, which is the first thing Franca noticed upon dragging her luggage to the bedroom. He hasn't done laundry in long enough that she can smell him everywhere. The detective turns to face Franca as he begins unbuckling his belt, the badge on his pocket shining in the lamp light when he picks it off and places it on the nightstand. His tired eyes scan her with a longing that is un-ignorable, despite how much she can feel him tearing away _again_ to thoughts of work and the case he's desperately trying to solve. He doesn't hesitate or flinch upon pulling his briefs down full along with the pants he was wearing. She watches him throw the clothes into the hamper and make his way into the bathroom. She lies down with an impatient sigh. It's ten forty-five and she's been lying here since eight-thirty waiting for him to get in.

            Franca waits. She listens to the toilet flushing, the sink running, the sound of Loki cursing when he cuts his cheek accidentally while shaving in front of the mirror. And she almost falls asleep again when the shower chimes on. She sits up in bed and stares at the closed door a moment too long. She would not be ignored. To have him just hold her until she fell asleep would have been nice, but she couldn't stomach the feeling of waking up to find him gone, not even his badge—his pride and glory—resting silently on the nightstand until her eyes opened again. Franca pushes the door open, a comforting heat engulfing her as the steam billows every which way. She tiptoes towards the curtain and begins to remove her underwear, hanging the item on the sink with her t-shirt. Slowly, she pulls the curtain back and finds him standing there, rinsing the suds out of his dark brown hair, the tattoos on his knuckles and neck becoming a blur beneath the streaming hot water. He pauses at the uninvited chill that saunters into the shower.

            When he finally wipes his eyes and turns around to find Franca standing there, naked, he's almost too tired to realize she'd taken her clothes off in the first place. He faces her, blinking a trickle of water out of his eye. She doesn't wait for him to say anything before gripping his chest for support and maneuvering in to join him. She'd already showered, but she had to be near him. To Franca's surprise, Loki pulls her to his body tightly, almost so hard that she couldn't catch her breath. He hasn't done it quite like this before. Something is wrong. She presses her lips into his peck and he leans in on her, turning so that she faces the shower wall, the cold of the tiles and the ring on his left pinky meeting her skin and causing her to gasp. His voice is a hot breath in Franca's ear when he speaks, pulling her up against him so that she's at tip toes.

            "I'm sorry," he says, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

She revels in the heat of his skin.

            "Please…just stay and sleep. One night won't mean the end of the world," she says, her voice initially hampered by the force of his hold, so he eases up on her.

            "Please, Loki. That bruise looks really bad—"

            "I know. But I can't…I have to go," he says, securing his forehead to hers and closing his eyes as if it pains him. She gently glides her hands over the sores again and he winces a moment. She buries her face into his neck and starts to kiss. The detective presses her harder against the shower wall.

            "You better stop that," he says warningly, his words serious and just about frigid. She doesn't stop and shortly he lets out a throaty groan. Was it not the detective himself who had pulled her into the shower? He feels her distractions at work, but regardless, can't refrain from making his way between her legs, so that she wraps them about his waist, running her ankle down his buttock like a cruel joke of some kind. She nibbles on his ear. It shocks her to feel a fist knot in her hair and pull back. He stares at her a moment before planting his mouth firmly on hers. The kiss is much more short-lived than she wanted it to be, and Loki's fists still knot in Franca's hair when he looks down into her eyes.

            "If you're not going to stay, make love to me before you go," she damn near begs, clawing into his shoulders. His eyes are so puffy and tired that she wants to do anything she can to tire him out to a point where he couldn't even lift a finger. He hauls her out of the shower so fast that she nearly slips when he sets her back on her feet. She shoves them into her flip flops as he turns the shower off. Franca feels a towel drape over her shoulders and turns to find Loki reaching for a second one for himself in the closet. His skin is flushed red from the heated room, and as he towels off vigorously, she wonders whether he'll acquiesce. He'd cut her off so abruptly that she wasn't even sure he'd heard her ask. But then he grabs her arm and leads her back into their bedroom.

            "Lie down," he orders against her ear, and she quickly finds her hands clamped against the bed by the strength of his large hands. She moans upon feeling him glide nakedly against her back, easing her down with kisses, restraining her so that she couldn’t move in ways his body would not have allowed. His breathing doesn't slow down as he shushes her and nibbles possessively into the back of her neck, grabbing her thigh and massaging his fingers into the flesh repeatedly. Her breasts begin to swell with anticipation and everything feels hot where the detective's skin is touching hers. She had missed his adrenaline, the way she had to keep up with him like this. Despite how dead exhausted he'd looked, he had the strength to take her now.

            "I'm sorry I didn't call," he breathes, massaging the hand that he kept plastered to the mauve quilt while the other roamed up to her throat and cupped it heatedly. He fondles a breast, turning Franca over, lying between her thighs and finding her lips before she has the chance to say another word. She gasps into the detective's open mouth when he forces his way, so unceremoniously, inside of her. She'd barely had a chance to warm up.

            The sudden stretching sensation causes her back to arch and her legs to clamp against Loki's sides reluctantly. He leans over her, baring into the mattress at her sides, pressing his lips against her forehead and giving a curl to his spine that causes him to sink in deeper. Franca bites into his shoulder and he groans. If she didn't know any better, she'd have thought this to be angry sex. She was, in fact, angry that Loki would be gone by the time she woke up. She hated how he'd always do that to her, despite knowing what being a detective meant to him. Was he just trying to fuck her hastily so she'd leave him alone, let him go back to work? Or had he missed her just as much as she admitted to missing him in the way that he sunk himself within her eagerly, as if he didn't want to waste another moment outside of her warmth?

            "I'm glad you didn’t. I think we needed the space," she admits. He had paused to let her awaken more comfortably, a rough thumb strolling across her cheek. She'd missed the weight of his body on hers, the way it restricted her every move and breath, until they were in tandem with the detective's. She could tell she was sweating then, but it felt nice. The sound of his breaths evaporating in her ears, their flesh making contact, gradually increasing with intensity until he was knocking all the right spots and saying all the nasty things that made her blush and moan weakly. She fell asleep soon after, head hot and swimming pleasurably against his peck, and didn't even hear him slipping into a fresh pair of jeans.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER ALERT. If you haven't seen the movie, you probably don't want to read this. There's an obvious spoiler. Originally I just wanted to write a smut fic about him, but I guess I've added to it.

            It isn't that he doesn't care that his woman will wake up unhappy, it's that he can't stand to sleep at all. He soon finds that this was untrue upon waking staring at the ceiling of his car, the chill of an ending November wrapping her thin, drafty fingers around his throat. He had never failed a case before. He reluctantly supposes there's a first time for everything. _Goddamn it, no!_ It's going to happen. He's going to find those little girls. He's been trying to draw the pieces together. People keep dying off and not being viable options...the last one never should have managed to get ahold of that gun and fucking shoot himself. Detective Loki hadn't seen that coming. The boss has made it clear how much he's fucked this up. He doesn't want to be a fuck-up…The rain continues to pour and the detective turns his key in the ignition, followed by the dial on the heat, rubbing his ungloved hands together. As he waits for the engine to warm up, he finds himself thinking about Franca, the last thing he should be thinking about on the job. It had taken him by surprise to turn the light on in his room the previous night and find her lying there. He was almost certain she'd given up.

            They met in February, under circumstances that never would have told the detective he'd end up loving her. She was amongst a bunch of hippies in a park that was marked for demolition to put up a strip mall—all the trees had to go. There was some kind of complaint about an endangered bird living in the trees, and a group of locals gathered to protest the day everything was to be cut down. He'd been in the vicinity, finishing lunch, when he got a call about a minor disturbance and responded to it. Franca caught his eye the moment he set foot in the park, pushed through the crowd. She had been the one bold enough to let the hippies help her chain herself to a maple. Somebody tried to throw the key in the gutter, but another officer managed to tackle the kid to the ground. Loki sauntered right over to the key, ignoring the loud megaphone some dainty-voiced man was yelling over. The demolition crew were already waiting to continue their work, mobs of people trying to tip a bulldozer, inside which an irritated man in a hard hat sat.

            Franca's amber eyes hit him like sunlight through the clouds overhead, and she stood there fearlessly as he made his way closer. She wasn't even wearing a coat, only a black blouse and matching mellifluous pants that nearly hid a pair of feet in mauve flats. She didn't speak as he grinned casually and asked her whether she was crazy. But when he tried to unlock her shackles, she kneed him and turned every which way, until he got one handcuff around her wrist.

            "Miss—I'm going to need you to stop moving," he'd said firmly, although he'd wanted to laugh deep down. Perhaps it was that he thought someone so pretty would be the last to choose to do something so foolish, despite knowing that the demolition crew couldn't possibly operate until the park was clear.

            "You shoulda left before we got here, 'cause now I have to arrest you," he said, unlocking the chain and quickly pinning her against the tree to finish connecting the cuffs. It was getting hectic and the tear gas came as soon as the detective walked Franca out of the gates, people scrambling and screaming behind them.

            "You can't do this. Aren't you going to read me my rights?" she'd said, standing still as a statue when he opened the back seat of his car. He'd merely smiled and made sure she didn't bump her head on the way in. As soon as he sat in the driver's seat, he began to recite her rights, and she sighed with exasperation.

            "You can shut the fuck up now," she said.

            "Excuse me?" he'd said, casting a wide blue-eyed glance in the rearview mirror. He hadn't driven for more than three minutes before he noticed she was shaking violently in the backseat. He turned around to watch her thrashing about on the floor, and surmised she was in no state to be brought to the station.

            "Fuck," he'd cussed, pulling over and stopping. He was already reaching into his pocket to call for an ambulance when he pulled the door open. He managed to pull Franca out, her amber eyes having vanished, to be replaced by white orbs that continued to roll uncontrollably in her skull. No one had ever had this particular reaction to one of his arrests before. He laid Franca out on the pavement and carefully unlatched the cuffs. He turned her on her back and had the phone to his ear, dialing for help when she finally stopped. She was still and quiet, and he lowered his ear to her lips to tell whether she was still breathing. He pressed two fingers to her throat to catch a pulse, afraid she'd died before he had the chance to make real sense of the situation.

            " _Fuck_ me. Shit—shit—shit. _Shit_!"

He'd dropped his phone, panicking. Her face was beautiful, and lifeless, and he lifted her up and placed her against the car before scrambling for his phone again. And as he was frantically searching for a street sign with which to direct the ambulance, he suddenly heard fast footsteps fading away from him. He'd turned with panic to find that woman running away at such a speed that he knew it would have been a waste of time to try and catch her. He had to finish explaining to the person on the other line that he would no longer be needing assistance. A mauve flat sat on the cold ground not far from where Loki had laid her out. He'd picked it up, noted the eight and a half marked on the bottom, and threw it in the backseat. For shit he'd find that woman again, right? But if he did, he'd have had evidence of her escape. The detective cursed and grumbled, got back into his car to head back to the park, and by the time he got there, he stopped and laughed. And laughed so much that he couldn't control himself. She'd faked it. She'd faked her way out of arrest…

 

            When the detective returns to his desk, keys are still sprayed everywhere from his outburst the previous day, and he trudges carelessly into the pile of consonants the custodian had carefully swept into a solitary pile beside his rolling chair. He texts Franca back mindlessly, responding to something she was asking, telling her he'd call on his break. When he receives a promising call from forensics, he hopes it isn't really the end of the line on the case. He _can't_ have failed. And much to the detective's relief, it wasn't over. When he ends up finding Jones, it's a turning point for the entire situation. And the moment he finds that little girl, takes a shot to the head, he knows he never failed…

 

            She folds every shirt and tucks them all away, the scent of detergent tumbling into her face as she pulls more of his clothes from the drier. She'd even made an honest attempt to clean the place up, less to make him happy, more because she likes the floors clean. She'd been living with David for two months now, and it still doesn't feel like home. It feels like a deserted island most of the time. When he _is_ around, and he's actually _present_ , that's when it feels like home to her. Only when she lies beneath the heaviness of his exhaustion does she feel like she's home at all. Sitting in front of the TV alone, eating the food she went to all the trouble to make, watching the plate she'd set aside for him grow colder, Franca stops focusing on the movie and reminisces mindlessly. She remembers how they met. It was gray and cold, and he was like a little night in the overcast sun, all in black, a tight-lipped expression—the kind where you can tell a person is biting their back teeth—and he looked angry when she tried to nudge him away from that tree. She'd thought he looked like someone you shouldn't mess with, so she knew she'd be wiser not to make it too difficult for him. She knew she could have been getting herself into trouble going there, but she wanted to have a story to tell her coworkers come Monday.

            "I'm going to need you to stop moving," he'd said, pausing to look her in the eyes while she struggled. Her gaze fell on the tattoo on his neck, and as he fidgeted with the lock on her shackles, she noticed a few inked into his fingers, too. If she hadn't known any better, if his badge wasn't dangling by his crotch with such a shimmer, she'd have thought the detective to be some kind of hoodlum. At the same time, there was something erotic about him that she couldn’t quite place, and when his hands made contact with her skin while he cuffed her, her heart skipped a beat…She laughs to herself, having sunk deeper into the chair at the kitchen table, throwing her feet up across it. She finds herself laughing uncontrollably...She'd never faked a seizure before, but had turned out to be a pretty good actress. She felt so dumb, but he fell for it. He'd pulled over so fast that it knocked her to the floor of the car, yet she never came out of the act, not until he had her lying on the cold cement, checking for a pulse. It was only when she heard him turn away and start pacing frantically on the phone that Franca had opened her eyes. She figured it was then or never. And while the detective was distracted, she ran so fast that she lost a shoe during take-off. She never turned around for it, that would have been stupid.

            It came as a surprise to her when she ran into the detective a second time. She was sitting in her favourite Indian restaurant, alone, on Valentine's Day. She hated that holiday. It was shallow and simple, and meant nothing about love. She didn't want to be surrounded by her girlfriends who would tell their horror stories about ex-boyfriends, one-night-stands, or how much they despised men. Franca just wanted to be alone and drown in deep fried bliss for a day. She'd thought it was a rather pleasant way to spend a Friday night, honestly, not that the previous weekend hadn't been just as riveting. Her heart jumped a moment and she'd laughed quietly about how easy it was to sneak her way out of arrest. She'd never been in trouble with the cops before, and had never even met one. She was so lost in naan and kofta that when someone dropped a mauve shoe on her table, she damn near screamed. She recognized her own shoe before she recognized the detective.

            Franca had looked around the nearly empty restaurant. A few minutes prior, she _had_ noticed someone sitting by a window in the corner, back turned, but she hadn't paid as much attention as to realize that it was the same detective who tried to arrest her seven days earlier. Her heart skipped a beat and as he stared down at her, she couldn't help beginning to feel…scared. Was he going to arrest her right there? It wouldn't have been too embarrassing. No one else was around. It had just been the two of them, eating alone, each on their own holiday date. Detective Loki had smiled. Franca had sat up straight and stared at her mauve shoe, sitting on the table.

            "You know, those are my favourite shoes. I thought I'd never see it again," she'd said coolly, hiding the genuine panic she'd felt with him standing right there, his badge flashing in her face. Loki hadn't noticed her, either, at first. But when he did, he went straight out to his car, picked up the shoe, and brought it in. Part of him _really_ wanted to arrest her right then and there—just for making it out of his clutches the first time. But little had Franca known that the longer he stared down at her, the more he wished to know the secrets behind her amber-eyed grin.

            "It's like…Cinderella," he said, pulling the chair at the opposite end of the table back and making himself comfortable. He was leaning in towards her, like he knew her. Anyone who would have stood across the room to watch them would've thought they were any old couple on a date.

            "I could arrest you, lady. But I'm feeling nice today, since I just solved a really bad homicide case."

            "So, if you _hadn't_ solved that case," she'd said, her voice faltering slightly as she eyed the tattoo on his neck. She suddenly wanted to hear the story behind it. She eyed the letters tattooed into his pale fingers where they sat on the tabletop, folded neatly.

            "Then I’d be going downtown right now?"

He grinned. And it was a sexy grin. There was so much fire in it that it nearly burned her. When Franca reached for the shoe, he grabbed it.

            "I've never just let anybody go like that," he'd said. She got nervous again.

            "Maybe there's a first time for everything," she'd responded.

His eyes looked her up and down, and she didn't quite like it, but she _did_. It wasn't like she hadn't gotten herself dressed up without realizing it. She liked to make men drool, shoot them down, and being that it had been a hallmark day to drool over anyone, she wasn't really surprised to see him checking her out. She'd scoffed.

            "I told you, I'm feeling nice today. So I'll cut you the slack."

            "Give me my shoe, then," she responded, tugging at it. He only held tighter.

He'd laughed.

            "Hey, come on…go out with me, and I'll forget all about that stunt you pulled—just one date. What have you got to lose?"

            "My freedom, apparently. You're disgusting," she said, but she couldn't help smiling.

            "I'm David. David Loki."

He'd offered his hand to shake, and it was surprisingly warm when she took it. He let her have her shoe, and she left in his car. It was an ugly, rainy day. She had taken the train to the restaurant, before it started raining, so Franca was thankful to have had a ride, at the very least. The more he started asking about her, the more she talked. Ask a woman about herself, she'll talk. The detective had seemed intrigued, he looked less like a dark cloud and his blue eyes were more like the sun shining off the sea. She was an environmental biologist. Normally she'd have taken a less extreme approach to protecting the environment, but a friend had convinced her to go to that protest at the park. She didn't exactly think it would turn out the way it had, until she volunteered to be the one to get chained. She hadn't known why she'd done it. She knew it wasn't really going to work.

            After they sat awkwardly in the theatre, surrounded by couples (some of them sucking each other's faces off), Franca had felt even more nervous. He'd gone quiet after simply asking her whether she liked the movie. It was a comedy, and she'd really enjoyed Loki's laugh. When he pulled the door of his car open for her to take her home, her heart was skipping beats again. And when he walked her to her doorstep and made her feel more safe than anyone had in a while, she'd kissed him…

            When she wakes up at last on the couch, the phone ringing off the hook, she realizes that David hadn't come home. She was getting tired of this. She wasn't going to stay around for it much longer. In fact, during her business trip, she'd thought about leaving him several times. Part of it was due to the fight they'd had the day before she left, and the other part was because she'd been feeling ignored. The way he fucked her a little over a day ago felt more removed than what she normally liked. Was there someone else? Was he just distracted by work? He hadn't told her much of the details of the case he'd been working on. She just knew it was starting to drive him crazy. Franca grumbles and picks the phone up, closing her eyes again. She hopes to hear Loki's voice, but instead it's his boss, talking about how David got shot, and asking whether she'd been to see him in the hospital.

            She drives with tear-filled eyes, and hates herself for even contemplating leaving him. His only fault was being distant from her. So far as she knew, he'd never cheated. The way that he was dedicated to his work, there was no _way_ he'd have had time to mess around like that. If anything, he got suspicious of _her_ every now and then, and that stung like a bee. She was head over heels with him and he had the nerve to think she'd fuck around on him? By the time she stops at the hospital, her face is wet from sobbing. She rushes up to the secretary, muttering his name. The lady keeps telling her to try and calm down, she can't understand a word she's saying.

            "My boyfriend…was—shot—in—the—head," she says, growing impatient, trembling. She could barely bring herself to say it at all. She gives his name and another nurse leads her to the room. She continues to tremble anxiously, until the nurse stops at a door, and Loki saunters out at the same time, bumping right into Franca. He steadies her shoulders, and she stares up at him wide-eyed. The nurse kindly interrupts to ask why he's up.

            "I'm fine," he explains calmly, "Someone else went to get the doctor to discharge me."

The nurse excuses herself and finally his full attention is on Franca. She's shaking her head, her eyes still leaking, unsure whether she'd heard his boss correctly.

            "They—they said you got shot in the _head_ ," she says, unable to stop tracing her hands over his cheeks, his chest, as if she can't believe he's really real. She whimpers aloud.

            "I thought you were going to be a vegetable," she sobs. To her utter surprise, the detective laughs. He pulls her into the room and out of sight as her crying intensifies. He sits Franca on the bed and she glares at him.

            "It's not _funny_ ," she spits between sobs, wiping her eyes. Loki stands before her and crosses his arms. He doesn't stop smiling.

            "Fuck you, David. _Fuck you_ ," she grumbles, "You said you were _coming_ home last night, remember?"

His eyes pinch shut tightly, and he pulls a hand down his face. She stares at the bandage at his hairline. He has a few stitches and some bruising, but she can tell he's otherwise okay.

            "Did I?" he asks.

Franca reaches for a tissue box on the nightstand and wipes her eyes and nose. She stands, not facing him. She jumps slightly when she feels his arms entwine her waist.

            "I solved the case…Everybody thought it was over, that I fucked up."

The last thing she wants to hear about is his work. He'd completely neglected her. She starts to pull away from him, tearing his arms from around her waist.

            "Can you _please_ , for once, not be all about your fucking job, David? I got that call from your boss this morning, and I thought you were fucking _dead_ ," she says, as angrily as she can manage. His smile had been replaced by a grim line.

            "It's like you don't even goddamn _see me_ anymore. You don't even remember that you told me you were coming home last night—?"

            "Hey—"

            "No, fucking listen to me—"

            "Hey," he says louder, cutting her off.

            "You can't just come home for _one_ night a week anymore—?"

            "Hey—you have _no idea_ what the fuck I've been dealing with, Franca," he shouts. She freezes. He'd yelled at her before, but not so harshly as now.

            "People's _lives_ depend on my job—"

            "Don't be so fucking dramatic, David—"

            "I'm a cop, Franca! People's _lives_ depend on me. There are two families out there right now that I just reunited with their children. If I had taken a break, those little girls would have _died_! They were missing for _days_ —do you have any idea what that means?"

            "Get out of my face," she whispers, starting past him. He'd gotten closer to her in his tirade. The detective only blocks her path. Franca closes her eyes.

            "No— _listen to me_. People's _lives_ depend on what _I do_. What _I_ do! Everyone else gave the fuck up, but I put the pieces of the puzzle together! _I_ did it! I've just had a hell of a night, and the last thing I need is you coming in here to scream at me because I missed dinner. Just _stop it_ , Franca!"

            When she opens her eyes again, she finds herself seated on the bed. She wonders at what point this managed to happen. Her blood is boiling. Loki's shoulders heave angrily as he stares down at her. An angry tear escapes her eye.

            "You have no idea what I do every day when I'm gone. You have no idea the shit that I've fucking seen. I have _told you_ what this job requires of me. I am _sorry_ that I'm not enough for you—that _I_ have to work, but how dare you come in here, after I've just been _shot_ , and talk to me like that."

            "…I thought I was never going to see you again," she breathes.

He calms down a little bit, takes a step back. And then she stands up and starts for the door. The moment she had done so, a concerned handful of nurses stand there peering in. Loki's voice had gotten pretty loud. He sighs exasperatedly.

            "Franca."

She doesn't spare him another glance, but walks herself out of the hospital and back to her car.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song inspiration: All I Need - Radiohead. "I am all of the days that you choose to ignore."

           "Is everything okay, detective?" one of the nurses asks. He glances over at the door to find the face of the one who'd led Franca to the room looking rather uneasy. He grabs his jacket off the bed and excuses himself between the small pack of scrubs. Franca had already vanished. He sighs and shakes his head, making his way to the car. He wants his bed. A couple hours of rest would set him straight. Upon stepping inside, he barely recognizes his own home. He flicks on the light in the kitchen to find that the floors are shining in there, too. An overwhelming sense of guilt becomes him as he makes his way to the cold, home cooked meal sitting on the kitchen table. He sighs, takes a seat, wrestles his shoes off.

            She has every right to be angry with him. The detective empties the plates into the trash and places them in the dishwasher. He makes himself toast and downs a few glasses of water before making his way upstairs for a shower. When he finds the bedroom immaculate, and even his laundry done, he feels like a jerk. In the mirror, he gently peels back the bandage to take a look at the damage, slamming a prescribed bottle of Percocet on the sink. After he showers, Franca still hasn't come home. As he sits on the bed in his boxers, his growling stomach doesn't allow him to sleep. He needed to find her and make it better. He slips into jeans and a clean, gray, long-sleeved shirt.

            Franca doesn't pick up the phone when he calls, sitting in his car in front of the same restaurant where they met for the second time. He eats there alone. The way that Anna Dover was weak in his arms had almost made him lose hope. If she'd died on him, would it have even been worth it that he'd found her? Probably; he wouldn't have failed. He still had to find Mr. Dover. He goes in to the station, knowing that Franca's not calling him back any time soon. There are a number of slaps on the back for doing such a great job, but the detective can't smile. The day passes and he finds himself at Jones', sweeping over the evidence. If Keller is alive, he knows he'll find him. Loki stares at the sky a moment, and when he hears the weak whistling from somewhere nearby, it's almost more chilling than the night. Having found Dover and called an ambulance, the detective at last finds a sense of ease.

            The case is essentially over, and the rest is up to the judge over Keller's abduction of Alex Jones. When the detective pulls up in front of his house to find Franca's car in his driveway, he hopes she's finally in the mood to talk to him. He can't tell if it's this case or her recent absence that has made him more salient of the state of their relationship. Perhaps it was taking a bullet to the head that got him realize he needed something more out of life. Sitting in his car, killing the ignition, he reminisces the day that Franca moved in with him. He was so happy. He couldn't recall the last time he'd ever felt so _happy_. She made things brighter for him. He could go home at the end of some grueling day—days where he'd seen things he hadn't wanted to see—and get lost in her ramblings of endangered species, her cooking, the warmth of her body trembling and panting beneath his, the softness of her breasts beneath his ear as he drifted off to sleep. He shouldn't have yelled at her like that; she had thought he was dead. As he turns the key in the lock, he is genuinely disappointed to find that _once again_ , Franca had failed to lock the top lock.

            The detective can't recall how many times he'd reminded her to do this. He usually didn't care whether the top was locked or not. Anyone who had the balls to break into _his_ home would sorely regret finding themselves face to face with his gun. In fact, it wasn't until Franca moved in with him that he'd become so keen on locking everything. He didn't like to worry about her when he wasn't around.

            "Frankie?" Detective Loki calls, dropping his keys on the counter and stepping out of his boots. The sink is running in the kitchen. He walks in to find Franca's back facing him. She shakes her hands dry and continues to ignore him while he stands in the doorway.

            "I'm home," he says, as if she didn't already notice.

            "…Why didn't you lock the door all the way? I shouldn't have to remind you anymore." She doesn't even look at him as she walks out of the kitchen, brushing past him.

            "Fran," he sighs. She starts toward the staircase. Loki unzips his coat and hangs it up on the rack. She's angry. He walks into the kitchen, where it smells like something was cooked recently. He makes himself a plate of sweet potatoes and baked chicken, and manages to eat and get distracted by the TV for about forty minutes. He sits back with a beer, able to _relax_. After watching the news for a bit (relieved further by the story about Joy and Anna being reunited with their families after missing for days), he finally starts up the stairs in an attempt to talk to his woman again. He finds her stuffing something into a bag on the bed. She's standing in her underwear and a big t-shirt, still dripping slightly from the shower.

            "Fran..." She continues as if she hadn't heard him. Loki steps further into the room, looking over her shoulder.

            "Baby…Will you look at me for just _one_ second?" He asks, growing impatient. She sighs, folding a shirt and placing it in the bag.

            "Hey. Hey...what are you doing? Where are you going?" He sits on the bed, so he's able to look her in the face. He grabs her wrist and she finally stops.

            "Don't _touch_ me," she says, pausing.

The detective stands up, sighing.

            "I'm going to go and stay with my sister for a while—"

            "Franca—"

            "I didn’t mean to still be here when you got back," she mumbles. Detective Loki grasps her hands, pushing in front of her so that she's forced to stop fumbling with the bag.

            " _Stop_ —"

            "You don't even _want me here_ ," she says, attempting to pull away, her voice rising.

            "I _do_ see you," he says calmly, in his most gentle voice. He doesn't want to break out again, the way he did in the hospital. He's not so much angry now as frustrated by Franca's dramatics.

            "You _don't_ ," she mumbles, voice breaking, shaking her head.

            "Frankie, stop."

She continues muttering about how he doesn't love her anymore, until he just grabs her, forcing her into his lap. She tries to pull away, feeling her legs give way as the detective skillfully leads her back, until she's sitting down on the bed. He kneels in front of her and pulls the bag she'd been stuffing off the bed, throwing it aside.

"I'm—I'm stressed out, Franca, alright? And I shouldn't have taken it out on you," he expresses calmly, rubbing circles into her lower back. Her eyes are wet.

            "Don't _ever_ yell in my face like that, David," she says angrily. She's not making it any easier.

            "I lost it for a minute, that's all."

            "...And you _are_ enough for me, I just don't think that _you_ want to be with me anymore, and I hate that. You're _always_ gone when I wake up, you don't come home, you're never _there_. Your job is too demanding, and I'm _not_ fitting in for you, David—it's either that, or that you won't _make_ time for me."

            He sighs, "That's not true." She pulls at his arms in an attempt to get him to stop touching her; he holds tighter. Franca's legs are heated against his chest, inviting, and suddenly all he wants to do is get between them.

            "Just let go. I can't _do_ this anymore."

When she tries to stand again, he keeps her seated by an iron grip on her waist.

            "You're just angry. You don't want to leave me…" she struggles some more.

            "Would you stop running away from me? Couples fight—that's what happens sometimes in relationships. You're being a _child_." Franca continues to shake her head and pull at his grip.

            "You don't know _shit_ about what I am."

            "You're never too shy to tell me when I'm being an asshole, and you're being a child right now."

            " _Stop_ ," she says firmly. Deep down, she doesn't want him to stop. She wants him to pay her more attention. But she hates that these days, it takes a fight to get him to pay attention. Franca shoves Loki with irritation, slapping his chest, until he wrestles her to the bed, using his body to pin her in place.

            "Calm the fuck down," he says calmly, simply watching her fume and glare. His expression is merely patient. His heaviness sinking against her creates a sense of yearning almost immediately.

            "You're the last person I want to be fighting with right now. Okay? Stop being dramatic, put that bag away, stop—" She grumbles and shoves at him again.

            "I'm not going to get off you until you calm the fuck down."

He's always cussing. It's one of the first qualities she actually grew to like about detective Loki. She swore on occasion, but since spending more time with him, found herself doing it every other word.

            "Your badge is fucking _poking_ my thigh," she mumbles, closing her eyes a moment.

            "My badge is poking your thigh," he echoes, almost with a tone of boredom, but when she opens her eyes to look at him, he's grinning.

            "Seriously, get off me. I'm still mad at you."

            "I like it here. I think I'll stay," he says, resting on his elbows and gazing down at Franca, scanning her face repetitively. He lowers his lips and allows them to rest on her forehead.

            "I fucking _hate_ you sometimes," she admits, digging into his chest.

            "Don't say that."

            "You smell and I just showered," she continues, pushing at his lower abdomen. He only laughs and stays put, enjoying her reluctance to his charms.

            " _David_."

Her hands fumble up the back of his shirt in her struggle, and his heated skin on her fingertips is the straw that breaks the camel's back. She moans. She could never _stay_ angry with him.

            "And I _do_ love you. What the fuck was all that shit about?"

He begins on her neck.

            "I _mean_ it. You smell like beer."

She denies him and crawls out from under his body at last, letting her hair down. The detective sits up straight.

            "I know that you want me to tell you, so I will: I love you. But you can't always get everything the way that you want it whenever you want it, Fran. These past couple of cases were…really something else. I couldn't just stop, drop everything, and disappear with you to Puerto Rico for _three weeks_." He was at least being serious again.

            "By the way, how is that—that bird you were talking about?"

She stares at the wall for a moment, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around the shins, resting her chin atop her folded limbs.

            " _I'm here right now_ ," he says, again remaining calm.

            "Tell me everything you wanted to tell me."

She's silent. He inches closer to her and wraps his arms around her. She gives in and leans sideways, into him.

            "So, those girls survived. You saved the day, Loki. Don't yell at me again," she says, her voice mumbled against his chest. She takes a good look at the bandage on his head. His eyes are tired, like before, and blank.

            "My poor baby," she mumbles, shifting to kneel right against his legs. She holds his head in both hands and kisses gently the wounded area. He rests his hands on the small of her back.

            "Oooo, so now I'm your poor baby, am I?"

She battles a smile.

            "You're a good man, David. Is that what you needed to hear?"

            "Not from you, baby. I already _know_ that you think that about me," he says, grinning slightly, "But I _wasn't_ being a good man to scream in your face when you thought I was dead. I'm sorry," he says genuinely, pulling Franca closer. She traces his cheek and rubs the hair that had come ungelled back across the top of his head. He leans in and presses his nose to her hair.

            "You smell so good," he breathes, and goes for her neck.

            " _No_ ," she groans, pushing halfheartedly against his chest. She liked to go to bed feeling clean, and he smelled like beer and a bit of sweat from going about his day. Detective Loki laughs and kisses on her shoulder, sucking Franca's neck more aggressively.

            "This is _rape_. I'm going to call the police," she jokes. He giggles.

            "I can't take these mixed signals, Fran. One moment you're telling me I don't want you, the next, you won't let me touch you."

            "Take your butt to the shower, and _then_ you can have me," she says, straddling him obediently a moment. The detective smiles.

            "You fuckin' tease," he grins, biting his bottom lip. He throws her on the bed and she laughs.

            "I'm going to fuck the shit out of you when I get out," he warns, pulling his shirt off over his head from the back and fumbling to place his badge on the night stand. He'd always put it there. A desperate heat swells between Franca's legs and she can't wait for him to come back after he drops the remainder of his clothes in the hamper and walks naked, shoulders strong as he stretches his arms, into the bathroom and disappears. She falls asleep to the sound of the shower, and doesn't awaken until Loki's arms enclosing her torso, and hands cupping her breasts, causes her to stir. He kisses her right on the ear.

            "Don't even _try_ to pretend you're asleep. Stop being so mean to me. I said I was sorry," he explains half-jokingly, making his way on top of her and turning her so that her legs splay his hips. He's naked and his hair is damp when she pulls a hand through it.

            "I wasn't," she breathes, groaning, "You woke me up," she mutters, not opening her eyes. The lamp is still on and it's too bright for her. She feels crushed a moment as he lets his weight down and tugs on her underwear to get them off.

            "I was sleeping," she whispers, though she's not really irritated by this sudden disturbance. Her inner thighs still ached from more than a day ago, when he'd fucked her callously before vanishing in the early hours. It feels as if she's dreaming, the way that Loki sits her up and allows her head to rest on his shoulder as he pulls the shirt off. He starts to kiss all over her face, his breath a rolling gust of minty Listerine this time, and it doesn't bother her as much.

            "Wake up," he says gently, lying her against the wall, tucking her knees up and sending them in opposite directions. Slowly, he descends between them and suddenly Franca's back arches at the heat of his mouth on her sex. She pushes her hands through his wet hair, her barely open eyes rolling completely closed. He starts off kissing her heatedly before introducing his thumbs, to pry her open. His tongue is hot and restless against her clit before teasing across her opening in vertical licks, zigzagging its way in, and she stars moaning, sinking down a bit and slowly repositioning her legs over Loki's shoulders. He moans pleasurably between her thighs, and as her lashes flutter in pleasure, the eyes unsure whether to keep rolling closed or to feast on the sight of his attentive work, Franca reminisces the first time that the detective did something sexual to her. It was their fourth date. They were watching a Marilyn Monroe movie at her place, on the brown sofa. They started kissing less than ten minutes in. Loki had migrated on top of her, and she'd felt him get so hard, like a rock beneath his jeans against her stomach. And she really hadn’t felt sure about any of it. She barely knew him! But he was a cop, right, so how dangerous could he really have been?

            The way that Loki had kissed her was irresistible, even more so when he casually shoved his hand under her skirt, and deftly found his way inside of her with two fingers, completely undaunted by the clothing keeping her hidden or the shyness of her response in kissing him. He made her nervous, and in ways she couldn't really explain. It wasn't a _bad_ nervous, per se, nor was it entirely good. All his tattoos were on display, after he paused and took his shirt off. He started off very gently, nurturing, even, trying to keep her more focused on what his lips and tongue were doing rather than the rough digits invading her in every personal way possible. He'd gone so far as to ask her how it felt, whether he was going too fast, being too rough. And when she'd begun to pull his wrist closer and part her legs further, he grew rougher, aiming with determination to hear something, anything escape from her throat. She didn't like to be fingered; it usually hurt. But the way he'd done it so suddenly, she hadn't had time to even tell him what she wanted him to do. She recalls the way her face had gone steaming hot and the way she felt flustered to get so wet on his hand, yet how little it appeared to bother him. Loki's cerulean gaze had been patient and he never took his eyes off her face, wanting to see her every reaction.

            After a few minutes of that touching and petting, she couldn't take it and pulled his hand away to take her underwear and skirt off. He smiled, his chest flushed red with anticipation. She recalls the way that Loki smelled, like he just took a shower. His hair seemed hard in places where the gel had dried, soft at the back of his neck. After he kissed her, his hands massaging down her legs, one of them damp from touching her cunt so much, he gazed down at her and frankly asked whether she had any condoms, because he'd forgotten them. And then Franca had gathered every ounce of strength to stop what was happening because she hadn't considered the fact that they might have gotten that far on the fourth date. Loki had told her it was okay, and only smiled, and she felt so embarrassed to have gotten wet like that just to stop him. He had asked her whether she would run to the nearest drugstore. And she went. Didn't even bother to put her underwear back on, aside from the skirt. Loki was too hard to be in public. She'd never driven so hastily to the pharmacy down the road from her house and back.

            Loki was waiting there when she got back, standing in the middle of the room with his shirt on again. He'd started towards her when she realized she must have taken too long.

            "I'm _so_ sorry—I really don't want to leave, believe me, baby—but I just got a call," he'd said, holding up his phone.

            "I have to go. I want to see you again. I'll call you." He'd held her in both arms and given her a meaningful kiss before walking out of her house. She had stared out the window at the flashing white and blue lights on his car as he'd gone to attend to whatever emergency needed him. It was that precise moment that she realized she was in love with him…Her legs are trembling in the present and Loki is holding them steady. A layer of sweat has worked its way up her body. His tongue is a tornado inside of her, and the detective picks up on the tell-tale signs of Franca's approaching orgasm. Her breathing is shallower than it was thirty seconds ago, and she's beginning to contract against his tongue on the inside. He sucks fervently on the glowing button of flesh that finally brings her to climax.

            During his progress, Franca had slipped down the bed and begun to claw at the sheets and at Loki's head. He's hard to nearly a point of pain when he picks his head up from between her thighs and gazes down at her satisfaction, the flesh all ablaze with coursing blood. She can barely take any more, but he isn't finished.

            "Don’t close your legs, baby—stay just like that," he pants, positioning himself atop her after pressing the limbs in opposite directions fervently. He finds her easy to maneuver and hardly needs to force his way in at all, she's so wet. She moans deeply and draws her nails into his lower back.

            "Fuck," she breathes, eyes closing in this blissful way that makes him even more excited. He moans with relief, closing the gap between them. When he inhales deeply to revel in the sensation of her body closing around his girth like a wet chokehold, Franca's breath is knocked from her and she places both hands securely on his pecks with some restraint, groaning. He didn't bother to go into the nightstand drawer for a condom, but by then it was too late for either of them to care. The detective moves with an almost foreign gentleness which causes Franca to open her eyes and lift her head to press her forehead to the detective's and gaze into his glazed-over eyes.

            "I just want you," he says. He'd been so fast before that she even forgot about the condoms in the drawer until she'd woken up to find him gone.

            "Fuck, David," she exhales, unsure whether she's frustrated because she's tired or frustrated because she just got off the pill, which makes this even more risky. But it feels too good to care. The detective's gentle thrusts begin to feel like a cruel game. He's generally a lot rougher than this, and she finds herself telling him to _fuck_ her, begging repetitively as he continues at an agonizingly gentle pace.

            "Shh."

Perhaps he had only _fucked_ her before, and not made love to her, as he does so now, with such severe patience and a building up of tension that Franca is left in a cold sweat. She knows another orgasm is waiting in the wings, and he's just trying to draw it out slowly.

            "Ahhh," he grunts, picking up the pace. He cups the back of Franca's head in both hands, and she lifts it again to place her forehead against his. They share the same air and stare until the only sensations each can register is the flesh, the taste, the scent of, the sight of, the sound of the other. He drives her over the edge when he starts with sharp, quicker thrusts, the kind she's used to. Franca bucks her hips up into Loki's until his body tenses up and he holds her still, and she just barely feels a warm, flooding sensation deep within. She didn't usually let him finish inside if they weren't using protection, but she feels less concerned as he collapses against her chest, kissing it and the neck until he can catch his breath.

            When he pulls out, she's met with an odd chilliness from where he was previously sheathed.

            "Can you please be here when I wake up, David?" she asks, closing in against his chest as he lies facing her, an arm strewn securely across her waist. He grins.

            "I'm going to be right here when you wake up. I promise."

She turns off the lamp and revels in his intermittent kisses against her forehead and cheek or eyelid, anything he can't make out just yet in the new darkness. She turns on her side and he spoons her so their flesh is in contact. Detective Loki folds his knees up underneath Franca's and she entwines her fingers into his where his arm is wrapped around her.

            "I promise I'll be right here," he says again. She falls asleep to him kissing her shoulder.


End file.
